Witches and Wizards
by jamessterling
Summary: A collection of short stories about the wizarding world
1. Gremlin's Treasure

The clock struck three, and Harry woke with a start. He repositioned his glasses and looked around. Hermione had fallen into a deeper sleep than he; she had found a comfortable corner in his office and dozed off under a blanket. Harry tiptoed to the door and quietly opened it, looking down both ends of the hall. The Auror Department was deserted this early in the morning, but it wouldn't be long before the Ministry returned to life.

They had been waiting for news of Ron, whether the rescue expedition had succeeded, whether it had failed. It had been noon the previous day when Harrington had finally caught sight of Ron through a scrying glass, stranded somewhere in the Carpathians. Aurors had been dispatched immediately, but they still had not returned. He thought that it couldn't be much longer now.

Hermione opened her eyes and joined him in the doorway. They stood and listened to the silence.

"Nothing?" Hermione said.

"Nothing."

Then suddenly there was the sound of grating metal as the lift began to move, footsteps followed by urgent voices.

"That's him! Come on!" Harry said.

They ran down the hall to the stairwell and sprinted down six flights of stairs, leaping past the steps three at a time, until they reached the Atrium. A goblin was sitting at the Security Desk, working the night shift. He was idly flipping through a magazine with one bony finger, looking down on it through circular spectacles perched upon his beakish nose.

Harry flashed his Auror's badge to the goblin while gasping for breath, "Ron...Excuse me….Have you seen...a group of wizards...one red-headed..." he said.

The goblin waited for both Harry and Hermione to regain their composure before responding, "Mr. Weasley has been taken to the observation ward located on the third floor."

"Okay, thank you," Harry said, turning to look at Hermione, "Let's go."

They climbed the stairs two by two, until they they reached the third floor. The light in the door of the observation was on, and when they opened it, they were immediately intercepted by the matron.

"What do you think _you're_ doing?" she said.

"We're here to see Ron Weasley," Harry said, "Please, we're from the Auror Department."

"Visitors at this time are _absolutely_ out of the question," the matron said, "You can speak to him about work after he's been released."

"I'm his wife, this is the father of his godchild," Hermione said, matching the matron's steely gaze, "Ministry policy dictates that the family of patients are to be granted visiting privileges at any time."

But the logic of Hermione's argument was lost on the matron as Harry noticed her eyes staring intently at his forehead.

"Ahhh...Harry Potter," she said.

Hermione took the opportunity to push past the matron and into the ward. Harry went after her, following an awkward handshake with his admirer.

Ron was lying in bed, still in his tattered robes, his normally vibrant hair turned a dull brown and his face darkened by the filth of the wilderness. When he saw his two best friends coming towards him, he sat up.

"Oi! Harry! Hermione!" he said.

"Oh Ron!" Hermione said, running to him and jumping into his arms, "Thank goodness you're alright."

"Hello Harry, how are you?" Ron said, sheepishly as Hermione cradled his head.

"I'm fine thanks," Harry said, breaking into a grin, "What happened to you?"

"Blimey, where do I start?" Ron said.

When the nurses had finished their examinations, the curtain was pulled back to give the three friends some privacy. Hermione sat beside Ron on the bed, and Harry had taken a seat on the visitor's chair. Their expressions turned serious.

"So, did you find him?" Harry said.

"No," Ron said, "Never even caught sight of him. But I got an idea of what Molotov might have been after." He took several deep breaths, "It's good to be back at normal elevation. Air's so much better."

"Well Ron, did you see anything interesting?" Hermione said, "They say that the Carpathians were the birthplace of magic. A lot of rare and ancient magical creatures are supposed to still be living there."

"As a matter of fact, I don't think I would have managed to survive without a little help from this...creature," Ron said, "Strange little bloke, like a flying baby, I really thought it was...you know...human, at first."

"Hold on!" Hermione said, "Did it have no teeth? And four toes on each foot? Ron can you remember for me?"

"Yeah, it would smile at me in such a creepy manner," Ron said, "Not sure about the toes." He closed his eyes, trying to recall a picture of the creature in his mind, "Yeah, maybe. Maybe it had four toes on each foot."

"That's incredible!" Hermione said, "A gremlin! The last recorded sighting was in 1492 by—"

"Wait a minute," Harry said, "Ron, did you say you might have figured out what Molotov was doing out there? Tell us everything that happened, start from the beginning."

Ron rubbed his eyes and yawned before starting, "Well, as you know, we got reports that Molotov had been seen in one of the small villages at the western bend. I got the orders to go after him. It was a quick apparition to a safe house in Ukraine, and then I thought I would make my way into the place by broom. I managed to fly over an entire grove of Whomping Willows. The broom flew off somewhere, but the worst part of it was that I snapped my wand in the landing."

"That's the second in three months!" she said.

"I know, I know, but it was an accident." Ron said.

"How did you make it out of the grove without your wand?" Harry said.

"I s'pose I got lucky, landed right at the edge of it, reckon I would have died right there if I hadn't," Ron said. "It was still early morning, and the whole place was covered in fog. I just got this strange feeling as I kept walking about, like the place was just filled with powerful magic, yeah? Lots of noise of animals all around me, but I couldn't see anything."

"Oh it's a shame you didn't have a field recorder," Hermione said, "Think of what we could have discovered just from the sounds."

"Well I lost my pack in the crash, lost everything really. Didn't have a way to track Molotov or even to find out which way I was going," Ron said, "So I just went in the direction I thought I came from, going around the Whomping Willows of course, but the grove was huge, and I just kept walking and walking, and there were still loads more of them. So I got tired and found a spot in the grass to sit and rest for a while."

"Wait a minute," Harry said, "How far do you think you went along the grove?"

"Dunno really," Ron said, "I got pretty tired walking about like that. I reckon I must have dozed off for a minute, but when I woke up, I heard this rustling and squealing nearby, so I moved closer to find out what it was."

"Who knows what that could have been!" Hermione said, "You could have gotten yourself killed!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Alright Hermione," he said, "But if you had been there, you would have done the same. Probably no use trying to run away from anything living there." He paused to brush the hair out of his eyes. "So anyways, I came upon some sort of creature tangled up in a bunch of vines. Whatever got it was pulling it in, and I felt sorry for the thing, so I just picked up a branch from one of the trees and whacked at the vines until they went away, back into a hole in the ground."

"That must have been the gremlin you were talking about?" Harry said.

"Yeah, it seemed quite glad that I had rescued it, flying around my head and squeaking like that," Ron said.

"It was showing you gratitude for what you did," Hermione said, "Gremlins are supposed to be highly intelligent. They were sometimes used for espionage back in the 13th and 14th centuries."

"Gremmy was pretty happy that I had rescued him," Ron said, "He flew around me in circles and made a sound that I think was laughing."

"You did _not_ name that gremlin Gremmy," Hermione said, laughing and rolling her eyes.

"Well I had to call him something," Ron said, "He was clearly intelligent and trying to communicate to me in his language, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. I pointed to myself and repeated my name, and he seemed to get it, but when I pointed to him, he would just fly around my head and giggle."

"You know, I don't recall any of the gremlins mentioned in books having names," Hermione said, "Strange, considering that many of them were attached to households for life, sometimes multiple generations."

"I don't think they actually need names," Ron said, "He just seemed to know when I wanted his attention, like he was reading my mind, yeah? Made me a little nervous, especially because he would hover after me, just behind my head. I had started walking again, and after a while there was this spot in the grass that had been flattened by something resting there. I walked a little further and found a trail of what looked like pieces of eggshell, with the membrane on it still fresh. When Gremmy picked one up, he seemed to recognize it and started flying in circles and giggling again. I asked him if it was something dangerous, and he just patted my head and smiled. I kept following the trail, and this time Gremmy flew in front of me."

"Hagrid never taught us much about identifying eggshell patterns," Hermione said, "But it's a pretty simple process to figure out what creature is inside the egg if you know what to look for."

"Well I didn't need to figure it out because we found what it was," Ron said, "Massive toad, I mean the size of a big dog, but it had these bright red eyes. Was hopping in one direction like it knew where it was going. Gremmy teased it a bit, flying in front of it and poking it in the back, and eventually the thing must have gotten really angry because it turned a bright red and started puffing smoke out of its mouth."

"A dimwort!" Hermione said, "You know their blood is considered really valuable. It's used in all sorts of banned potions. Very difficult to raise in captivity too."

"Too bad I didn't catch any then, because we kept following the thing and eventually it brought us to a lake, and this place was _overflowing_ with them, I mean just loads and loads of them, sitting on the shore, swimming in the water. The one we had followed just sort of hopped in and joined them."

"Sounds like the Department of Magical Creatures should really take a trip to the place," Harry said.

"Well I hope they're prepared because there were things, things that I didn't even see, that even Gremmy was afraid of. I tried to find a place to sleep later that night, and Gremmy tugged me awake twice and forced me to run in whatever direction with him until he thought we were safe again. Reckon he saved my life both times."

"I wonder how a gremlin protects itself from danger when it can't run," Harry said.

"Get this," Ron said, "They can use magic! When I woke up in the morning, I thought I saw a person watching me behind some brush, so I started after them. I thought it was Molotov, but after chasing them for a while, I caught a glimpse of their back, and I realized that I was chasing Hermione, or something that looked like Hermione. Luckily Gremmy had caught up to me by now, and he pulled me back, just before these black vines came out of the ground and latched onto me. Gremmy just sort of pointed both of his fingers at it, like this," Ron gestured, "and the vines withered away and fell off of me. Saved me again, he did."

"Don't be surprised that they can use magic," Hermione said, "Lots of magical creatures can you know."

"Gremmy's was different thought," Ron said, "I could only feel it. I couldn't see it. It was an invisible force that he could control, because it affected the vines, but it didn't hurt me. I think they're really powerful creatures actually. Anyways, so finally I thought that I passed the grove of Whomping Willows and was starting back towards what I guessed was the right direction, when Gremmy pulled me back again. I had nearly fallen into a massive hole in front of me, more like the opening of an underground lake, hidden by the brush. I had to rest then because I hadn't eaten anything since the day before, but then I noticed that a rope ladder was hanging against the rock of the cave wall, and it looked as if it hadn't been used in ages. Gremmy was giggling again and flew downwards into the cave, and I guess I was forced to follow him. There was a pathway beside the lake that continued further underground, and Gremmy kept a small light on the tip of his finger as we went deeper and deeper. He got really serious all of a sudden, very focused and quiet. Then suddenly the passageway opened into this huge cavern, and we were looking down into it. It was lit by this strange blue light that hovered in the air."

"Ron, that sounds like faerie fire!" Hermione said.

"Well I didn't pay it too much attention because the entire cavern floor was occupied by the biggest dragon I had ever seen, sleeping fortunately." Ron said.

"What kind of dragon was it?" Harry said.

"Dunno, didn't look like anything I had ever seen before," Ron said, "It was bigger than even that Hungarian Horntail you faced in the Triwizard Tournament Harry, and it looked like it had been there a long time, like it had become part of the rock itself, but I could see it still breathing."

"That's strange," Hermione said, "I don't recall there ever being such a spell that could put a dragon to sleep, except in the old legends. Whatever magic it was, it must have been very old and very powerful."

"But one thing I know is that dragons like that are always used to guard something, and I looked around for whatever it was. There wasn't any treasure that I could see, no gold or anything, but then I saw a small pedestal right in front of the dragon. Gremmy and I crept closer to get a better look, and it was this strange looking crystal, shaped like a pyramid, except it also was reflecting the light from the faerie fire in such a strange way, like all of it was focused into its center, like a prism yeah?"

"I don't believe it Ron," Hermione said, "That sounds like Arwen's Crystal from ancient legend! It's supposed to be _really_ powerful. It can amplify the power of any spell that is cast through it. That's probably what Molotov was after!"

"Well I didn't have much time to think about it, because all of a sudden the dragon woke up, and it was incredibly angry. Gremmy must have cast some magic on it as I ran, because it didn't kill me instantly, and I was able to get back up the path and out of the cave, but as I did so, the dragon collapsed the whole cave onto itself. It was right about then that the rescuers showed up, and now here I am."

"Well it seems like the mission wasn't a total failure," Harry said, "You found _something_."

"Yes, but now it's been lost forever," Hermione said, "A priceless artifact of ancient history."

"What's that?" Ron said, "You mean the crystal? That's what woke up the dragon in the first place." He drew the glistening prism from his robe pocket. "Here it is."


	2. The Tansley House

It was eight o'clock in the evening when Tom Ramsay had a moment of clarity. He sat up in his recliner. Yes. Something to do with the old Tansley House. He turned his head to look out of the living room window. In the distance, upon the sloping hills that sheltered the little town of Shefford, the Tansley House sat alone, dark and dignified. A narrow, dirt path could be traced winding through the grounds that started on Orchard Lane, by the Wilshere's house. The little village that had once nestled at its foot long since bulldozed. It was an old family that inhabited that place, but the last member had passed; it was abandoned. What was it he wanted to remember? Think. Ramsay felt himself slipping back into murky confusion again. It was no secret among the neighborhood that he was beginning to lose his mind, what with waking the entire neighborhood in the middle of the night, rambling and wandering about the darkened streets. The constables had been rather embarrassed to deliver him back to Mrs. Ramsay because Tom Ramsay had been a fine police Chief, still remembered fondly by the older members of the force.

The Tansley House. The Tansley House. The Tansley House, he repeated to himself in his head. I mustn't forget. He fumbled about in his pockets for a pen with which to write this down, but raised his hands in disgust when he found them empty. The television was going, the evening news. Insufferable, he thought, it was a wonder anybody could remain coherent with that thing on. He would turn it off. Rising from his recliner, he ambled across the carpet in his socks. _The town of Shefford continues in mourning_ _as days later the whereabouts of the Ashby twins remains unknown. Chief of Police Edward Jones held a press conference earlier today detailing the progress of the investigation_. The Ashby twins. Yes, that was it! The Ashby twins and the Tansley House. He knew there was a link. But how? Mr. Ramsay balled his fists in frustration as he groped about in the fog of his mind for the answer.

"Tommy!" Mrs. Ramsay was standing in the living room entrance now, holding a tray in her hands. "What are you doing?"

Ramsay turned in surprise and mumbled an answer. His wife had become his jailer, confining him inside the house which had become his prison.

"Whatever are you standing for?" she said, "Come and sit down. I've brought your dinner."

Ramsay was led by the arm and helped back into his recliner. His eyes glossed over as he searched his mind for the answers. Mrs. Ramsay placed a small folding table in front of him, set the tray down upon it, and left the room. The aroma of her excellent cooking drew him away from his thinking, and he soon began cutting away at his potatoes. After a moment, she rejoined him with an identical folding table and tray of her own.

"Oh my dear, let me help you with that," she said as she snatched his utensils from his hands and began to chop up everything on his plate. That was quite enough. He was perfectly capable of helping himself thank you, and though he couldn't for the life of him remember whatever it was about the Ashby twins and the Tansley House, the idea was beginning to dawn on him that perhaps he should investigate himself. Yes. That was it. Ramsay peeked at his wife, now busy with her own dinner in front of her. He would have to be patient, wait for her to let down her guard.

"I had a chance to visit the Ashbys earlier today while you were napping," she said, "Devastated, they are. All of their hopes are now placed on little Cynthia."

Ramsay mumbled another half-hearted response. Of course of all the neighborhood children it would be those two to go poking around the old Tansley House. But he would investigate on principle. It was principle that guided him. He imagined himself triumphant before the astonished faces of the people that had thought him an old, senile, fool. It was decided. He would go this very night.

As Ramsay lay in bed that night, he kept his eyes shut, breathing slowly to pretend to be asleep. He listened to the rustling of his wife beside him, waiting for his opportunity. After an indeterminable and agonizing amount of time, he felt Mrs. Ramsay go still, her breathing becoming slower, deeper. Ramsay slid sideways out of the bed like a card being plucked from the deck, and glided silently towards the bedroom door, deliberately left ajar when he came in for the night. It squeaked when he opened it. He paused, holding his breath. His wife did not stir. From there it was easy, down the stairs, shoes on, and out the door. The autumn air left him shivering in his pajamas.

If any of the neighbors had looked out of their bedroom windows, they would have seen an odd sight: Tom Ramsay, shuffling from shadow to shadow, his arms crossed against the cold. But they were all asleep. In the distance, Ramsay could see the outline of the Tansley House against the darkened brush of the hill. He reached the foot of the old dirt path and began the ascent. It grew steeper the further he went, and he nearly lost his balance in middle, muttering curses to himself as he stumbled about. Then the ground leveled out, and he stood before it. Four spires rose upwards at the four corners of the looming structure, its interior guarded by a set of massive wooden doors. The remains of a garden were scattered about the perimeter; ornamental stones lay disorganized among the weeds. A small statue, some kind of winged creature, stood moldering and crooked in the dirt. Ramsay climbed the stone steps to reach the doors and pushed and pulled against them. It was no use; the entrance was barred. How then did the Ashby twins go about it? He went around the house several times. A tall window on the side of the house, almost as tall as the structure itself, looked into what appeared to be the dining room. There was no other way, he told himself. Ramsay picked up one of the stones from the garden and hurled it at the glass. He winced as it shattered, the sound echoing throughout the hills.

Inside, the moon illuminated the outlines of the interior of the house in its faint glow. the long slab of wood that was the dining table and the fading cushioned chairs were covered in a thick layer of dust. The place had not been occupied in some time. Ramsay gingerly stepped over the shards of glass and walked into the living room. On its western side was an enormous fireplace, uncovered. Snakes undulated over and over in the dim light, carved into the marble mantelpiece. Above this was the portrait of a haughty looking man in emerald green robes. Long gray hair flowed to his shoulders, and his dark eyes appeared to stare down menacingly at the intruder. Ramsay studied closer the encased figurine of some creature in dusty glass upon the mantel. He jumped. Did the painted man just shift in the picture? He held his breath and looked carefully at the portrait again. No. It was just a trick of the light.

The Ashby twins. What had they gotten into here? He looked up the staircase, but a strange instinct told him to search further on the ground floor. Then he saw it, the first clue. The cover had been raised from the keys of a black, upright piano that stood against the southern wall. He walked over to it. Its keys had turned yellow with age, and the paint had chipped off in places. Ramsay ran his hand over these and felt a chill come over his entire body. He pressed down.

The discordant notes echoed throughout the house, and suddenly, as if triggered, there was a loud bang and crash from the fireplace. Ramsay jumped backwards against the eastern wall of the house and hastily grabbed a dusty lamp stand and raised it before him.

"Who's there!?" he said.

In the darkness, Ramsay could see the form of a man rising up in front of him. It coughed several times before producing a long object, giving it a wave. Instantly, the room was lit by hundreds of candles perched upon a high shelf that wound around the house. Though strange was the fading robe that flowed outwards from the man, what struck Ramsay most was the mop of fiery red hair that graced the man's head, graying at the tips. The newcomer coughed one last time before straightening himself and smiling at Ramsay.

"Well...Sorry about that," he said, "Good to see you again Tom. Arthur Weasley" His aged face broke into a grin, and he held out a hand.

"Who...Who are you? What have you done with the Ashby twins?" Ramsay said.

"That's no matter," said Mr. Weasley. He paced about the room a bit while Ramsay continued to stare at him, lamp stand still in hand. He stopped abruptly and turned again to Ramsay. "Did you touch the piano?"

"What difference does that—"

Mr. Weasley suddenly turned very serious and shouted: "Did you touch the piano!?" His wand was now out.

Ramsay jumped at this sudden outburst, but then slowly nodded his head. Suddenly there was another crash from the fireplace, and a second man emerged from it, dusting his black robes with his hands as he stood up. This man was considerably younger than his counterpart, his ruddy cheeks and closely cropped hair giving off a sense of vigorous health. A brown leather bag was slung over his shoulder.

"Seamus! Just in time. Did you bring the potion?" Mr. Weasley said.

"Yeah, I've got it here," Seamus said. He opened the bag and produced a small, stoppered vial, within which was a lustrous, teal liquid.

Mr. Weasley took the vial and removed the cork. "Alright Tom, that's enough skittishness for tonight. Put down that poor lamp and drink this." He held out the vial.

Ramsay hesitated again, unsure of the motives of these strange men.

"Come on now Tom," Mr. Weasley said, "If we had wanted to harm you, it would have happened already. You've touched the cursed piano, and you've got to drink this for your own good." He walked towards Ramsay and began loosening the man's grip on the lamp stand. Ramsay reluctantly took the vial and drank its contents. He grimaced at the strong metallic taste, and then felt a warmth beginning at his fingertips. Mr. Weasley took the empty vial, stoppered it, and handed it back to Seamus. He then clapped a hand on the shoulder of Mr. Ramsay and smiled grimly. "Forgive me old friend," he said. Then swiftly, he raised his wand, pointing it Ramsay's chest, and muttered, " _Obliviate"._ Darkness suddenly came over Ramsay, and Seamus stepped forward quickly to catch him before he crumpled to the floor.

Arthur and Seamus supported the still unconscious Ramsay on their shoulders as they carried him back to his house. Two hours had passed since Ramsay had stepped past his front door. The whisper of tires on asphalt in the distance had stopped; not a thing made a sound. The two wizards had walked most of the way in silence, but when Arthur glanced up at the moon, full and bright and all alone in the black canvas of the night sky, he sighed.

"Molly is going to kill me when she finds out that I've been working late again," he said.

"You've been out this late often?"

"Yeah. Most of the department is away assisting the Estonian Ministry with something. Shanks just had a baby, and Turner's been out sick," he said, "You know, I'm really getting too old to be handling department emergencies anymore."

"Then why don't you just stop?"

"Can't. I'm too far into this case. Those two muggle children are still in St. Mungo's and won't be released for sometime," Arthur said, "This one here, the memory charm isn't working so well with him. Some are just better at resisting it."

"And why haven't any spells been placed on the house?" Seamus asked, "Surely such an old house would have something to keep muggles away."

"Any enchantments placed by George Tansley have worn off since his death," Arthur said, "A simple concealment charm won't work either; the muggles have known about this place for too long. It's on all the local maps; people would notice it missing. We'll need the rest of the department for something more powerful. The house is filled with dark magic, and it will take a while to go through." They had reached the front yard of Ramsay's house. "Let me do all the talking," Arthur said. They came to the front door, and Arthur rang the doorbell. There was no sign of movement in the house. He rang it again, and then several more times. Finally there was the sound of shuffling on the other side, and Mrs. Ramsay opened it, blinking sleepily at them.

"Hello Mrs. Ramsay, we've found Mr. Ramsay wandering about the neighborhood again. We've brought him back," Arthur said.

The old woman frowned and looked at the unconscious face of her husband. "Oh dear, Tommy, what are we going to do with you?" Ramsay began to stir a little. After a few moments, he had opened his eyes and was able to support himself.

"Well, there you are," said Arthur, coaxing Ramsay back into his house, "Sorry to bother you, we'll be going now."

When they had got back onto the street, Arthur and Seamus turned to look at each other. Arthur Weasley nodded at him in acknowledgement. "Right then," he said. There was a loud crack, not loud enough to wake any of the neighbors, and the street was empty again.

-X-X-X-

Tom Ramsay was at breakfast when he had another moment of clarity. Something about the old Tansley House. He tried to remember. He looked at his wife, who was busy cooking sausages on the stove. Outside, the world had started up again after a night's rest. Ramsay closed his eyes and balled his hands in to fists, trying to think, but it was no use. He gave up when his breakfast was placed in front him. I suppose I'll think of it eventually, he thought. It'll come to me.


End file.
